


The first and the last

by YuriOokino



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Blood and Injury, Cave-In, Concussed Sam, Concussions, Gen, Hunt, Hurt Dean, Hurt Sam, Season/Series 03, Wendigo, references to Dean going to Hell, separated boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:25:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuriOokino/pseuds/YuriOokino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is ticking for Dean, but he doesn’t look concerned enough to a frustrated Sam, who feels like this last wendigo hunt is just a waste of time. They both have a lot to learn when the hunt goes wrong and they’re faced with choices and personal battles. Set between 3x05 and 3x10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The first and the last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Betta3x9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betta3x9/gifts).



> Written for wccs_spn community's First Challenge, based on **betta3x9** ’s prompt, in which she asked for a hunt, a cave in, separated boys, big brother!Dean who doesn’t want to leave and lots of hurt!sam who tries to hide his injuries. Please, enjoy! (And forgive me for all the poor quality tropes!). Special thanks to **cappy712** who had the patience to make this fic readable by fixing my poor English grammar :)

During the last two weeks, Sam had started thinking in terms of 'last times'. The last time they would have put gas in the Impala together. The last time they would have used the fake FBI badges together. The last time they would have drunk that brand of beer together. That would have been the last he would have bought burgers for Dean. Actually, scratch that. Dean would have always found time for one more burger, even on the edge of perdition.  
****

The sound of the Impala’s engine brought Sam’s attention back to the mini-market’s clerk, who was waiting for his money with a stretched-out hand. Sam grabbed a bag of M&M’s from the side of the counter before paying for everything and heading back to the car.

“Got the M&M’s?” Dean asked predictably, as soon as Sam had closed the door behind him.

“Got them,” he said, throwing their supplies on the back seat.

After the event of almost two years before, peanut M&M’s had become a sort of tradition during their Wendigo hunts. The last Wendigo hunt, Sam thought, while the engine roared and purred, bringing them back onto the highway.

***

“The Wendigo is not even the worst part of a Wendigo hunt,” Dean said, still spitting leaves after a branch had hit him right on his mouth. “Like it wasn’t enough to have to look for _and_ roast a son of a bitch. No, we also have to fight against friggin’ mother nature. And I’m telling you, Sam, the lady is pissed!”

Sam couldn’t really argue with that. As always, the Winchester luck had not been easy on them. Starting from the case itself. Last time he checked, Sam was pretty sure that they didn’t have any time to waste over Wendigos, ghosts, or anything else that wasn’t related to find a way to save Dean from Hell. Apparently, though, his brother was not in the same mindset. Drinking and hunting – both women and monsters – seemed good enough as a distraction to him. So, while Sam spent his days and nights looking for clues that could lead him to the demon who held Dean’s contract, growing more frustrated very time he hit a dead end. Dean had found what was supposed to be ‘a day camp with recreational activities and roasted monster’.

Despite the good premises, the hunt had already demonstrated to be a nasty one. It had been clear from the beginning that the reported disappearances of a few campers and a couple of rangers had to be attributed to a Wendigo. The vastness of the forest had not discouraged potential victims from venturing into the unknown. Although it had, without no doubt, caused Sam to wonder how much time they still would have wasted – spent, _spent_ – wandering and stumbling into the chilly woods, after leaving the Impala in a visitor parking lot, three hours earlier.

“Hey, you alright over there? Need a beauty rest already?” Dean asked, noticing the way Sam had been silent during most of their hiking.

“No. The sooner we finish this, the sooner-“

“Yeah, I know Sam, I get it.” Even though Dean was walking in front of him, Sam could almost _hear_ him rolling his eyes. “I’m as anxious to find that demon as you are, but this doesn’t mean that we have to stop doing our job.”

‘Saving you from an eternity in Hell _is_ our job,’ Sam thought angrily. ‘ _My_ job, in fact.’

Sam wasn’t even trying to hide his frustration anymore. Dean knew how he felt – or, at least, Sam hoped so – but his solution to that didn’t seem to be anything different from a compassionate smile and a pat on the shoulder. And _that_ was what drove Sam on the edge.

They had this conversation over and over, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly. A few words and bottles had been thrown at each other. But Dean’s reaction had always been the same in the end. Eventually, Sam had given up, since he realised that that might had been the last time Dean had smiled at him that way.

***

They were almost 10 miles into the forest when they finally heard the first scream. At that point, they knew they were getting closer to the Wendigo’s lair.

“It’s playing with us,” Dean said, giving voice to both brothers’ thoughts.

This time they had come prepared. They knew there wouldn’t have been any signal – there was never a signal – but two 5 mile range walkie-talkie radios would have done the job pretty well. They had spare batteries, spare fuel for the flamethrowers, spare bullets just in case the party had gone really wrong. Although this time none of these precautions would have helped. Because they were hunting a Wendigo that hid into an old, unmarked mine shaft; with likely the presence of methane gas. And then, of course, because of the Winchester luck.

“So, no flames, no firearms,” Sam repeated for the third time, after he dropped his backpack on the ground, next to Dean’s.

They had chosen a fairly hidden position behind a huge, dead trunk, facing the cliff where the entrance to the mine opened a dark hole in the rocks. Old and crooked ‘Danger: flammable gas’ and ‘No trespassing’ signs were hanging loosely, or had already lost their battle against the rust.

“Yeah, thanks, Marie Curie, I know that already.”

“What does that-“

“Nothing that can start a fire or an explosion, I’m not an idiot.”

Sam sighed. “I know you’re not, I just want to be sure...” ‘That you’re not going to do anything stupid, like you’ve been doing recently.’

“We can be sure as much as we want, but this is the exact opposite of a solution. That sucker needs to go flambé.”

Sam looked at the entrance of the mine shaft, thoughtfully. There was only way to solve this, and he was sure Dean knew that as well. “We have to lure it out. I’ll do it.”

“Pff. No way, bro,” Dean stated, finishing loading his gun. “I’ll go make some noise and take it out its hole. You’ll stay here, ready to fire.” Before Sam could argue, he patted him twice on the shoulder and stood up. “Your aim’s better anyway.”

“Bullshit,” Sam muttered, observing Dean making his way towards the mine.

The plan was simply stupid and reckless. Exactly the way Dean has been acting, not only during a job, but in their everyday life as well. More than once Sam had felt like he had to remind him that that was not his last day on Earth. Not yet. But the words were never strong enough to overcome the lump in Sam’s throat. So there he was, jaw clenched, sighing, like he was unable to negate Dean his last – death – wish.

The sudden beep of the radio in his left pocket almost distracted Sam from his train of thought.

“ _Testing the radio. Over._ ” The sound was so clear Sam could make out the cockiness in Dean’s voice.

“I hear you fine,” he answered.

“ _Over._ ”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“ _Neither did you, smartass. You’re supposed to say ‘over’. Over._ ”

Sam sighed again. He really didn’t have the patience for that.

“Copy that. Over.”

“ _Good boy! Now, let’s see who’s home. Out._ ”

Sam made sure he had a clear visual of the mine’s entrance and his brother from behind the vegetation. Then he pointed the flamethrower to the black hole in the mountain, steadying it with both hands. He was too far away for the fire to be effective, but the plan was to get the Wendigo away from the tunnel. Dean’s gun would not have inflicted any significant damage to the monster; its purpose was purely distractive. Dean had his own flamethrower, of course, although he wouldn’t have used it while he was that near to the mine’s entrance, probably.

“Mrs. Johnson? Can Jimmy come out and play?” Dean’s exaggerated tone resounded through the forest and Sam’s muscles stiffened in anticipation. He could hear his own breathing becoming heavier and slower, forming short-lived clouds in front of him. They had done it before; one of the brothers trusting the other with his own life during a hunt. Even then, Dean trusted Sam to be in control of the situation, to prevent the Wendigo from killing him. Nothing new in that. Except, this time the burden seemed a lot heavier than usual.

“C’mon, you bastard! I know you’re in there!”

Dean was hitting the rock with the butt of the gun, carefully stepping closer to the entrance.

Nothing happened.

‘If it’s not stupid, it won’t come out,’ Sam thought, cynical.

He lifted the radio in his left hand, without losing sight of his brother. He didn’t like the stillness of the forest around them, nor the silence that had fallen.

“Dean, get back here. It’s too dangerous. We’ll find another way.”

Dean was now standing in front of the entrance. He hadn’t picked up the radio nor given any sign of hearing Sam.

“Over. Sorry, I forgot it,” Sam tried again with an exasperated note in his voice – although that was actually an attempt to mask his nervousness. “Can you get away from there now, please? Over.”

Dean’s hand finally reached into his pocket. “ _Copy. We need to find another way._ ”

A sudden movement on the top of the cliff caught both of the brothers’ attention. The bushes moved frantically and Sam only allowed himself time to catch a glimpse of a vaguely human form, before jumping out of his hiding place.

“Dean, run!”

Dean was only able to take a couple of steps before the creature dropped in front of him with a high pitched growl, cutting Dean’s way to his brother out. The sudden stop had made Dean’s feet slid onto the wet carpet of dead leaves. He fell backwards, planting a hand into the soft ground, in the exact moment when a set of claws cut the air above his head. Before the Wendigo could make a new and successful attempt, Dean lifted his gun and shot. The bullet hit the target, but it was only enough to make the creature stagger. Another growl covered Dean’s curse.

All of this had happened so fast that Sam had only had time to jump over the trunk in front of him, and start running.

“Dean!” he called again. Dean must have taken it as a cue, because he balanced himself back onto his feet and disappeared into the dark tunnel, followed by the Wendigo. Sam felt all the blood in his body freezing at the thought that they couldn’t use their weapons inside the mine. But that didn’t make him stop; it only made him run faster. With his bowie knife ready in his hand, he followed Dean and the creature into the darkness of the tunnel.

***

Cold, dark, dampness and the regular sound of his heavy breathing echoing against the narrow walls were the only presence inside the mine. Sam had launched himself behind his disappeared brother, but he soon had to slow down when he realised that he could not see a single inch from his nose. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flashlight, the knife still in his right hand, his gun and flamethrower hanging from his belt, useless.

The flashlight revealed two, three, four ramifications in the tunnel, but not – sadly – any clues of which direction Dean had taken.

‘Shit. Shit.’

Sam was desperately trying to keep his panic under control, as the roar of blood rushing into his ears wasn’t making him any good in trying to pick up the sounds around him.

Drip.

Breath.

Drip.

Breath.

He walked carefully, trying not to trip and give away his position. That march into darkness and silence was terrifyingly slow. His mind kept going back to the radio resting against his thigh. He desperately wanted to pick it up and call for Dean, but he didn’t want to risk it, not in case Dean had found a place to hide. He swallowed back the temptation and kept on going. Feeling the dampness of the cave already freezing on his skin, he approached the branches cautiously.

And then – it must had been a miracle of some sort, or maybe the Winchester luck deciding that it was time to reward the boys – Sam noticed how some soil and gravel had briefly substituted the hard rock beneath his feet, revealing a smudged footprint. Dean’s footprint. Pointing to the second tunnel from the left. Sam turned off the flashlight and proceeded in his descent, left hand brushing the wall, hope warming up a small spot in his chest.

“Dean?” It was just a small whisper, but it echoed into the even smaller tunnel. It was alright, though. As long as Sam was giving away _his own_ position, he couldn’t care less. But he had to know. He had to know if Dean was there, he had to know if he was still able to answer.

Sam inhaled slowly, and called a second time: “Dean?”

A sound. A faint groan in the darkness ahead. Sam rushed forward, heart bumping in his chest.

“Dean!”

“...Sam?”

“I’m here! Don’t move.”

Sam turned the flashlight back on and sighed in relief when he saw Dean’s form sitting on the ground, one leg stretched out, trying to stand up, unsuccessfully. He dropped next to him, illuminating his face. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from the light with a painful groan.

“Did you hit your head?” Sam asked, foreseeing the signs of a concussion.

“Nah, just my leg. It’s a scratch.”

Which meant it was anything _but_ a scratch. Sam lowered the light to see the ripped jeans and the torn, bloody flesh in his brother’s right leg. Wendigo’s claws were sharp and merciless.

Dean didn’t leave him time to speak. “I lost it, Sam. I don’t know where the bastard is. We need to get out now.”

“Glad to see we finally agree on a plan.”

Sam turned the light off once again, intending to keep their position hidden as much as possible while he helped his brother out. He allowed Dean to use his shoulders to lift himself up – what were huge brothers supposed to be for, otherwise? – Sam heard him yell.

“Six o’clock!”

With no time to think, Sam tackled his brother and pushed him back onto the ground. He sensed the Wendigo’s presence just a few inches above his head and, for that moment, Sam’s only thought was to remain still and to shield Dean from the monster. It sounded good enough for him. That, he couldn’t fail. He shut his eyes in anticipation of the burning cold pain.

“Sam! Get up now!”

Sam’s eyes snapped open to the sudden realisation. That wouldn’t have worked. The Wendigo would have easily torn him apart, and then Dean’s turn would have come. No, he had to take it away from his brother.  
  
“Christ, Sam, move before it mauls you!” Dean’s eyes, barely discernible in the dark, were widened in fear, while he struggled to get Sam’s weight off of him.

With an expert movement, Sam’s changed his grip on the knife and turned. The blade met bone and tense flesh in the moment it cut through the creature’s jaw, which arched back with a painful, bloodcurdling screech. But Sam knew that was not nearly enough. He shoved Dean’s grip off his jacket, stood up and started running deeper down into the tunnel. He heard Dean calling his name, and the Wendigo following close behind him. That was what he wanted. Too bad that, in the middle of the action, he didn’t pick up the flashlight from where he dropped it.

Sam tripped a first time, steadied himself against the wall, tripped again, hit an invisible rock with his knee and fell face forward on the ground.

“Hey! Heeey! You son of a bitch, get back here!” Dean yelled on top of his lungs. “C’mon, I’m juicier than him!”

The Wendigo slowed down. Sam could tell, by the sound of its raspy breaths that it was looking back and forth, trying to decide which prey to get first. He needed to act fast.

The hard metal of the flamethrower pressing onto his hip suggested him the only thing to do. Sam’s grabbed the weapon, turned on the pilot flame, and pointed it in front of him. The dim light was enough to illuminate the small space, revealing the bloody, horrendous face of the Wendigo, but – most of all – the tense, terrified one of Dean’s. Sam could only pray he was far enough.

“Sam, don’t!”

So, those would have likely been the last words he had heard from his brother. He should have seen that coming.

Sam’s finger pressed the trigger and the fire roared into the cave, investing the Wendigo’s figure completely. Sam was not sure if what filled his ears first was the creature’s deafening scream or the overwhelming rumble of the explosion.

***

Dean drew in a wheezy breath that was immediately cut off by the coat of dust in his throat. He coughed and wondered why he couldn’t open his eyes. Then he realised that the darkness he was staring into was not the back of his eyelids, but the inside of the mine. His cheekbone was resting painfully on the ground, definitely cut. His left arm was stuck under his body at an awkward angle, but when he tried to move it he realised, with relief, that it was just sprained. However, his injured leg demanded his attention in the moment he rolled on his back. He grunted in pain and remained still, breathing heavily and coughing occasionally, unable to get rid of the dust in his nose and throat. The continuous ringing that was lingering in his ears had slowly been replaced by silence. And a throbbing headache.

“Sam?” His voice was croakier and weaker than he expected. “Sammy!”

No answer. Dean patted his jacket for his flashlight, but realised it wasn’t there anymore. He then searched the ground, hoping to find at least the one that Sam had dropped. It had to be there, somewhere. Actually, he couldn’t be sure. He remembered seeing the fire overflowing into the explosion – actually, it was more like a blaze. The level of methane must have been pretty low, but the narrow space inside the tunnel had functioned as a compressor and had hit Dean with unexpected force. He remembered the intolerable heat and then being knocked backwards like he had been punched in the face by a wrestler. Then... Dean didn’t know. He could have been out for a second or an hour, had been flung back into the main tunnel or just a few inches away.

“Sam!”

Still no answer and his heart started racing, the pain in his head pulsing in time with the pounding in his chest, while he frantically felt the floor for the damn flashlight. He found it – with huge relief – and turned it on, hoping not to see what he feared for.

He didn’t see it. He didn’t see the walls painted in Sam’s blood or splattered with his brain. He didn’t see his body torn and mauled or burnt into crisp by the explosion. In fact, he didn’t see anything except a wall of rock that wasn’t there before. Dean wiped his eyes with his hand in an attempt to clear his vision from either dust or blurriness, and studied what he had in front of him. Part of the cave ceiling, which was barely kept together by rotten wooden beams, had collapsed.

“Sam!”

Dean stood up with some difficulty, ignoring the pain in his leg as much as possible, and dragged himself to the crumbled wall. He felt it with his hand, looking for a breach, for something to move. Nothing. Looking up, he noticed how a beam, fallen sideways, had prevented the rocks from sealing the tunnel completely, leaving a small gap between the debris and the ceiling. He made an attempt to climb the wall, but between the leg and the arm he gave up almost immediately. He could not reach the breach, but at least Sam should have been able to hear him. Then why wasn’t he answering? The rational voice in his head was telling him that Sam was either crushed under the rocks, or trapped on the other side with a deathly Wendigo. But Dean refused to believe that there was not a third option.

***

There was an alarm wailing somewhere, in the distance. It could have been a car. No. It was closer now, and louder. An alarm clock? That wasn’t the sound of his alarm clock. And he wasn’t lying on a bed. Even motel beds weren’t as uncomfortable as that. Sam was determined to find out the source of that drilling sound, and he moved his head; bad idea. A shock of pain spiked from his back to the base of his skull, making him gasp in surprise.

From that moment on, the only thing he could feel was pain, building up in each part of his body. His head, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, his left side; everything felt like it had been pulled off, ripped apart, crushed or set on fire. He tried to suck in air and clear his mind from the pain, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He struggled to cough and that sent a new wave of pain through his chest. He tried to look around, in confusion. There was just darkness. And pain. And he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was chocking and prayed for unconsciousness to grab him back into the peaceful oblivion.

“...Sammy!?”

The word was almost completely overtopped by the ringing in his ears, but he could swear he heard that. Sam collected all his strength and air in his lungs.

“Dean...”

“Sam! Thank God... are you hurt?”

“W-where...? Where are you?”

“The ceiling caved in. I’m on the other side. Are you hurt?”

The ceiling? A cave? Oh, right. A mine. A Wendigo. He had run inside to help Dean and then... he fucked up.

“Sam! Talk to me!”

“I-I’m okay. I think...” Sam tried to move again, but this time he clenched his teeth and stopped a gasp just in time. “I think... there’s something on my chest.” And abdomen. And everywhere else.

“Can you move?”

Sam tried to assess his injuries, although the weight on his chest was still too heavy to let him think straight. It didn’t take much to free his arms, but as soon as he moved them, a localised searing pain revealed that he was probably suffering from some burnings. The piece of rock was somehow held in place by something Sam could not see, and removing it from his chest was a slow and difficult task. He did his best to minimise groans and whimpers, as Dean called his name in fear every time he made a sound, and Sam didn’t really had the strength for constantly reassuring him. Each inch of his body that was freed from the debris was immediately invested by pain that left him dizzy at every movement. When the weight on his chest was finally lifted, the unpleasant feeling of pressure in his left side didn’t go away. It actually became worse, and Sam had had too many broken and cracked ribs not to know what that meant.

“Give me an assessment,” Dean ordered from the other side.

“Uh, I-” He coughed and had to squeeze his eyes and remain still while a new wave of pain and nausea assaulted him, leaving him shaking and sweating.

“I’m... okay.”

“Yeah. Try that again.”

It was pointless. Dean knew him too well.

“Might have a cracked rib or two. And I think I hit my head, but not too bad. Breathing hurts a little. I had worse.”

“Sure you did, Sam. You died, remember?”

Sam sighed, as much as his chest allowed him. The pain was about to take over his brain every time he made a small movement. The feeling of nausea was quickly making its way up through his stomach, and he couldn’t help but gag.

“What was that?”

Sam swallowed back and fought against the dizziness, trying to ignore the suspicious metallic taste in the back of his throat.

“Well... the Wendigo sure doesn’t smell like freshly cut roses.”

He heard Dean shuffling.

“Is it dead?!”

“Pretty sure. Well done and extra crispy. I also think it shielded me from the explosion...”

Sam felt ashamed. He knew what he did with the flamethrower was stupid. He had thought about saving Dean, but he actually put his life at risk, possibly even more.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“I’m good.”

“Dean...”

“I said I’m good, alright? Now that I know that you’re not going to die in the near future either, tell me: what the hell were you thinking?!”

“I WASN-” Sam started shouting, but had to stop immediately not to pass out. “I wasn’t... thinking. I just had to.”

“A friggin’ Wendigo saved your life! You could have died!”

The back of Sam’s eyelids felt like it was covered in sand. He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the unpleasant sensation, but ended up shutting his eyes completely instead. He was too tired and didn’t have the strength to reply to his brother. He knew Dean was right, he knew he was being rational. But arguing about that, right now, was pointless.

“No flames, no firearms. Remember who said that?!”

‘I did.’

“You did! Weren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

‘I’m not _the smart one_. I’m just fairly smart. Sometimes.’

“Sam?”

‘What?’

“Don’t you dare giving me the silence treatment.”

‘I’m... not?’

Sam was talking. Right? He wasn’t sure anymore. He felt like his brain could only begin a thought, but couldn’t finish it.

Like...

Like...

“Sam!”

His eyes snapped open and his body jerked as he felt like he was falling. But he was already lying down. The sudden movement caused a gasp escaping his mouth.

“Hey!”

“Wh-what?” Sam was surprised by hearing his voice so drowsy.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh... nothing.”

“You stopped answering me for a good five minutes. You scared the crap out of me!”

“Ah... did I?” Sam didn’t remember. No, he was talking to Dean just a second ago! What was wrong with him?

“How hard did you hit your head?”

Sam tried to assess the injury, but he honestly couldn’t tell. Now the pain was sort of mixed, he couldn’t tell what was aching or how much. He just felt overwhelmed, and dizzy. And confused.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, and this time he was being honest.

Dean’s tone of voice suddenly became calmer and deadly serious. “Keep talking to me.”

“No... you keep talking. I’m tired.”

“No way! You keep talking and stay awake! We gotta get you out of there. You need to tell me if you can move. There’s a small breach on the top, we have to work on that.”

Sam heard his brother moving on the other side, a few occasional curses and a grunt.

“How’s your leg?”

“I said it’s fine!”

It wasn’t, or he would have been on top of that stack in a second.

“You need to take care of that.”

“I will, as soon as we get you out. And screw camping. This is the last Wendigo, I swear!”

The fact that that wasn’t even a joke made Sam’s eyes sting with tears.

“We’ll get to the car and get a proper fix-up, alright?”

It didn’t take long to Sam to realise that he would have never made that far. He couldn’t even turn his head. He knew his back, or his sternum, were damaged. He could breathe without passing out and there was something, in the back of his brain, that was not working properly. Like he only had half brain functioning; and there was that coppery taste...

“Dean.”

The sound of his brother struggling with the pile of rocks didn’t stop. He could hear Dean’s pain and exasperation in his muttered swearing.

“Dean... You need to go. Go look for help.”

“Fuck this! I’m not leaving!”

“Dean, there’s no point... you can’t do anything with that injury...”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

Sam was too exhausted for this. He felt so powerless he wanted to cry. The nausea was becoming unbearable and he couldn’t fight back the metallic bile anymore. At least he still had the alertness to turn his head to the side before throwing up. That movement and the spasms were too much to bear, the pain in his chest and back took over. Darkness was engulfed by more darkness, and once again the last thing he heard was Dean calling his name.

***

“Fuck this, I’m not leaving!”

Dean made another attempt to climb the rocks, but his leg dragged him down again. It wasn’t really the pain who prevented him from reaching the top, as it had reduced to a dull ache. He was starting feeling dizzy from the blood loss and he knew, for sure, that his leg needed attention, even without his geeky brother to remind him so. But he was so close. He had to reach him and make sure he was alright. Get him out, and then they could’ve gone looking for help.

‘Oh, suck it up and get up there,’ Dean coaxed himself. That breach was his only hope. The rocks at the bottom were too big and heavy to move, especially with that useless arm of his.

He was barely half way, when his fingers lost their grip. He slid down and cursed again.

“Dean, there’s no point...” Sam’s voice was faint, muffled by the wall – yes, definitely by the wall. “You can’t do anything with that injury...”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

He couldn’t leave him, not without knowing for sure the seriousness of his injuries. He figured that Sam was hiding him something, consciously or not it didn’t matter. Sure like hell, he had a nasty concussion. Dean had acknowledged that the moment Sam had dozed off while he was talking. Moreover, Dean was pretty sure Sam had made no attempt to free himself, meaning he probably couldn’t move. That last detail was something Dean didn’t really want to think about.

He was starting feeling desperate.

“I’ll get you out,” Dean promised, but he was mostly trying to convince himself. “But I need your help, Sam. I need you to get up.”

Admitting his own defeat made him feel ashamed and useless. Dean had one job, being the big brother, and he was exceptionally failing at it – damn, he had already failed so many times already.

“Ehy, little brother. I’m sorry. I need some help here.”

All he got in return was a choking sound coming from Sam.

“Sammy?” Dean pressed himself harder against the cold stone. “Are you alright there?”

Still no answer, just more choking, gurgling and coughing. And nothing else.

“Sam! Don’t do this, please! Tell me something!”

Silence.

“Son of a bitch!”

Dean put the torchlight between his teeth and grabbed the closest rock with both hands. He ignored the protest in his left arm, tightened his grip and lifted himself until his feet were no longer touching the ground. With a grunt, he planted his good foot into a crack and raised a few more inches. He couldn’t use his right leg at all, so he relied on the little strength in his arms to lift his body every time he had to change his left foot’s position. Slowly and painfully, Dean climbed the wall, getting closer and closer to the breach.  
He felt his left arm giving up, but he wasn’t going to let it happen this time. He knew he wouldn’t have been able to climb that wall anymore, if he had fallen. He didn’t have enough strength left and the pain had left him too dizzy. That was Dean’s last chance.

One more jump and his foot missed the spot. He found himself hanging with his arm threatening to tear off – or at least that was how painful that felt. He had to resort to use his damaged leg to avoid sliding down. As soon as his body weight was resting on the leg, he thought he would have passed out.

‘Just a little further,’ he coaxed, desperate for his body to collaborate.

And suddenly he was there. One last pull and he was finally in line with the small breach. He rested a few seconds to catch his breath, waiting for the dark spots in front of his eyes to disappear.

“Sam!”

He pointed the light to the other side of the wall. The gap was too small and too close to the ceiling for Dean to have a good look. He froze when the beam illuminated a dark crumpled mass on the floor, but realised with relief that he was looking at the dead Wendigo.

Sam must have been very close to the wall – Dean felt dizziness overtaking him, thinking of his brother missing the cave in by less than an inch. He pressed his head against the ceiling to get a better vertical visual. Moving the light beam back and forward, he scanned the floor, until he finally recognised two familiar feet.

“Sammy, please!”

The feet remained unmoving.

“Hey, I’m here! Let’s get out of this stinky hole. What do you think, uh?”

Finally, a small movement placed the feet into a better angle, enough to let Dean see what looked like blood stains on Sam’s shoes... and legs. Sam moved again, a broken sob echoes in the small space and Dean felt his heart clench.

“Jeez, Sammy...”

And suddenly the tunnel filled with a scream that drained all the blood from Dean’s veins.

***

Sam knew he was not supposed to use his gun in the mine, but he didn’t care. He held it tight while he run down the pitch black tunnel, chasing the thing that was chasing Dean. The _thing_ that was supposed to be a Wendigo, but turned up to be much more terrifying.

There was no sound except from his heavy breathing and his heart pulsing in his ears, fast. The air was damp and freezing, but sweat was streaming down his neck and back.

Dean! He screamed, but no sound came out.

“Sam!” was the voice that echoed instead. For some reason, it sounded like it was coming from above. But there was nothing above him, just cold, darkness and emptiness.

“Sammy, please!”

Sam ran faster toward the voice, screaming Dean’s name into his mind, hoping he could hear him somehow, and know that his brother was coming. He didn’t leave him. He was there to help him; to save him from the Hellhound.

Dean’s voice rose again, louder and more desperate, cutting directly into Sam’s soul so painfully he was crying.

Then he saw a light. It was moving, shaking slightly. He run closer to its source and he found himself suddenly invested by it. Sam squinted as soon as the light cut into his eyes like a blade, threatening to split his skull in two. When he managed to open them again, he saw red. A huge pool was spread on the floor. The walls and the ceiling were covered in it. The coppery smell was nauseating. The blood was everywhere, soaking his clothes, his face and his hands. In the middle of the pool lied something that once had a human form, something that once was his brother.

“NOOOOOO!” This time the scream resounded all around, broken by sobs and painful moans.

“Sam? It’s alright, little brother. It’s alright.”

That voice, so sweet and reassuring, was the voice of a dead. Dean’s ghost must have been there with him, reminding Sam of his biggest failure.

“Dean, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry...”

Each sob sent a web of agonizing pain from his chest to every inch of his body, but he couldn’t stop.

“Your blood... is on my hands. It’s all my fault. All this blood... it’s everywhere...”

“What are you talking about?” Dean’s voice sounded so frail and worried, very different from that of the ghosts they were used to. “Sammy... please, stop. It’s not real. You’re hallucinating, c’mon. It’s okay.”

“But... the blood is here, and... oh God, it hurts...”

Sam tried to curl up to instinctively protect himself from the pain, but it only made it worse. His chest was on fire, his lungs were screaming for air, and there was something in him, near his stomach... something that felt terribly wrong. A new wave of burning and disgusting sensation crawled up his throat and Sam found himself throwing up once again. His body was shaking uncontrollably and he couldn’t suck in enough air. He was underwater. Everything slowed down, everything was muffled, except for the sound of his heart drumming in his skull, racing and fighting too hard.

He laid, half floating, in the darkness, while cold spread into his veins. He heard the ghost’s voice, faint words coming from another world. Then silence, emptiness and peace.

“ _Sammy?_ ”

Beep.

“ _Sammy... I’m right here._ ”

Beep.

That wasn’t a ghost. The voice was suddenly different. It was closer, it sounded like Dean was right next to him.

“ _Sam, pick up the radio. Talk to me, please._ ”

The radio.

Sam blinked. The radio. He had one. In his pocket.

Slowly, he moved his hand, and made it slide against his hip. He touched something small and square-shaped. He brought it up to his face, not because he could see it, but because he wanted to have Dean’s voice closer to him.

“ _Sam, answer me. Please_.”

Sam pressed the button.

“...Dean?”

“ _Good boy. Are you hanging in there?_ ”

“Dean... are you okay?”

“ _Sure, man. Who do you think I am? Some kind of Samantha Winchester?_ ”

There was something slightly distorted in Dean’s voice, but hearing it so close to him suddenly made everything a bit less painful and gave Sam something to focus on.

“ _Now, listen to me, carefully. You’re going to be okay. This is a promise. I’m going to look for help._ ”

***

Dean had seen it. When Sam had made that heartbreaking noise he had pushed himself up, squeezed between the ceiling and the pile of rocks, enough to see the pool of blood his brother was lying in. Not only was he bad, he was a lot worse than Dean had thought. He had no way to help him, even if he had managed to get him out of there in time, he couldn’t have done anything for his injuries. On top of the concussion, Sam definitely had some serious internal bleeding and... God knew what else. Sam was lying in his own blood thinking it was Dean’s. He would have done anything to stop that suffering – and this time Sam wouldn’t have died on his watch.

Since his voice couldn’t reach Sam in the meanderings of his hallucinations, he thought of another solution. He stuck the torchlight between the rocks, so Sam would have had a source of light while Dean was gone. He picked the radio that was still in his pocket, pressed the button, and began to speak.

It worked. When Sam finally answered, Dean did his best to keep his voice as soft and reassuring as possible.

“How are you hanging in there?”

“ _Dean... are you okay?_ ”

Oh God. No, he wasn’t. But it had nothing to do with his mauled leg, twisted arm or throbbing headache. He cleared his voice before pushing again the button.

“Sure, man. Who do you think I am? Some kind of Samantha Winchester?”

He was hoping the good old joke would have overcome the lump in his throat.

“Now, listen to me, carefully.”

That decision had been painful to make, but he had to be reasonable. There was no time for pride or for being a hero. Not this time. If he had lost Sam again, it would have been for good. That was his last chance to make things right.

“You are going to be okay. This is a promise. I’m going to look for help.”

A pause. Dean saw Sam’s legs moving in the dim light – actually, they were shaking.

“ _Okay._ ”

“Good,” D answered, trying to sound encouraging. “I’m gonna take the radio, and you’ll talk to me, and you’ll stay awake. Alright?”

“ _Okay_.” Sam coughed weakly. “ _’C- Cause if you were the... the one talking, I’d fall a-sleep in seconds_.”

“I wish you were of the same opinion when you were five. I could have told you ten or a hundred stupid stories, and still you wouldn’t go the fuck to sleep.” Dean couldn’t help by smile a little. “But I’m going to leave the light on, like good old times.”

“ _’Right. I’ll t-try not to go any... where._ ”

“You better not! I didn’t sell my soul for you to die in this crap-hole, understood?”

Dean knew Sam was still very touchy about the subject, but he would have used any method to make him keep fighting.

“ _D-did you at least k-keep the receipt?_

“Sorry, no refunds. Meaning that you better be still here bitching when I get back.”

Dean climbed down – carefully, he really needed that leg now – after making sure that the torchlight was in place between the rocks. Although every part of him wanted to stay, and make sure that Sam was still awake and safe, he also knew that the only way to make that possible was to find help and get him out.

After all that time in the dark, the light outside almost blinded him, even if the sun was setting; he couldn’t waste any time. The forest had been cold enough during the day, and the temperature was already falling. On top of that, Dean was worried about the methane gas that might have been accumulating in the tunnel that was now almost completely sealed.

He limped toward the abandoned backpacks and found the first aid kit. His top priority was now being able to walk without bleeding out of passing out from the pain. He tightened a tourniquet around his thigh and quickly washed the wound, sealing it with a few butterfly bandages. A very rough job, but he had to make it work. He didn’t have time for a top class stitching. After swallowing greedily a couple of painkillers, Dean pulled out the map. He already knew he had two choices: undertaking a five hour walk – probably six, given his conditions – to the car, and drive to the closest town; or walking to the closest ranger station – around four hours away – hoping to find a radio, a satellite phone or, maybe, people.

He closed his eyes, assessing once again the pain in his leg. He tried to calculate how long he would have been able to walk, and how long Sam could have survived. Both numbers were worryingly low. He had no options than taking the fastest route. Dean glanced again at the map, and then he raised the radio.

“Sam. I’m going to the ranger station. How does that sound?” He was determined in using any excuse to make his brother talk.

“ _Sounds like a good plan... t-to me..._ ”

“Just one thing. The station is 7 miles away from here. That means... that the radios will stop working before I get there.”

Dean hated the idea. The prospect of hobbling for 2 miles in complete radio silence, without knowing if Sam was okay – if he was _still alive_ \- terrified him.

“ _Typical._ ”

Dean smiled, finding Sam’s sarcasm strangely comforting. He grabbed a thick branch to support him and began his march, trying not to look behind him.

***

The shivers were making everything worse, especially the already excessive pain in his ribcage. Sam had the feeling that they weren’t caused by the creeping cold. Although dizziness and weakness had completely overpowered him, so that he could just lie helplessly, shaking, staring at the dust dancing in the beam of light, forcing himself to stay awake.

“ _Are you still alright there?_ ”

“N-not if you k-keep as...sking.”

Sam was grateful to Dean for keeping talking, but he had also learned that sarcasm was the best way for reassuring his brother.

“ _You better stop whining. You know the drill. You crack your melon, you stay awake._ ”

Sam managed to suppress a giggle just in time, before it reverberated against his broken ribs. He tried to swallow, in order to get rid of the unpleasant sensation of dust in his mouth, unsuccessfully.

“Well... since you’re asking, I’m terribly t-thirsty.”

“ _Can’t drink with internal injuries, Sam..._ ”

“I know... j’st talkin’....”

Every time Sam blinked, he felt like he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes again. He tried to focus on his rushed heartbeat. His body was still fighting, but his mind was starting wandering. He felt lightheaded. The pain in his chest was constantly increasing, and he realised he was breathing faster and faster. He was there... but he wasn’t. He remembered feeling like that before.

It was a chilly night.

There was mud under him.

The rain was thin and prickly.

He remembered a sense of urgency.

Going.

He remembered himself faltering just one more second, drawn to life by Dean’s touch.

Sam was aware of the fact he had fallen asleep again, but he couldn’t help it. The changes in his body made him realise that he must had been out for a long time. The pain in his abdomen felt like it had spread, it felt dull and pulsing. The sweat on his skin had frozen. He had no control over his shallow and fast breathing. His lungs were starving. He couldn’t clear the fog in his mind. It was dense and twisted. His thoughts were on a loop. Like a broken record. He felt exhausted from shuddering. He was too tired. He was too cold.

As much as he didn’t want to die, he started realising that he might have no choice. He didn’t have it in Cold Oak, either. But that was different. Back then, he had been waiting for death to wipe his poisoned existence. He didn’t look for death, he had just accepted it as the best solution, and welcomed it when it came. But then, just before light and pain were swallowed by darkness, Sam saw that; a last glimpse of desperate green eyes that he didn’t want to see ever again.

It would have been so easy, now, to slip away once and for all, if it wasn’t for the fact that his life would not have been the only one ending. Sam was bearing Dean’s life in him in more than one way. Not just because his brother had sold his soul for him, but also because it was Sam’s job to save him, now; even if his brother didn’t consider himself worthwhile. Somehow, it was hilarious. Dean had probably thought that Sam didn’t understand what he had done, after Cold Oak. The reason behind his deal with the demon, the way he didn’t care about the consequences. As painful as it was, Sam understood perfectly, though. He understood the impelling need for clenching at his brother’s life like it was the only thing to keep him in this world, to keep him from falling, spiralling down into nothing, lost. He understood the recklessness that would have taken control of their mind if the other had been in danger, like the entire universe had been reduced to one purpose only; keeping the other alive.

Sam hadn’t been heard back from Dean in a while. He didn’t know if it was because he was already outside the radio range, or simply because Sam’s mind was too disconnected from the world. The radio was still laying next to his face; his finger was still resting on the button. All he had to do was clearing his mind just enough to put together the message that Dean needed to hear.

“Dean...”

Sam’s voice was so weak that he feared it wouldn’t even have reached the other side.

“I wanted to say that... I’m sorry for this. W-what I’ve done was... stupid. And b-because of this now you have to walk 7 miles on an injured leg. This was exactly the opposite of what I wanted. It s-seemed like a smart idea at the moment... But this doesn’t mean I regret that. D-Does any of this sound familiar to you?”

He stopped a moment to catch his breath, although any attempt was ineffective. His vision was blurred and dark at the edges, framing the small column of light.

“I’m apologising because... this is what I do. But I don’t want you to do the same. I understand what you did; especially now. It wasn’t a... _sorry_ what I want from you. I j-just... need you not to give up on yourself so easily.”

When he loosened his hold on the button, the crackling interference was the only answer he got. The sound begun to fade slowly. Sam felt powerless as he tried to float over the surface of unconsciousness, and finally sank into the profound emptiness.

If that had been the last thing he had ever said to Dean, he would have been happy with that.

***

Dean was walking towards West, staring at the sun setting behind the trees, watching it marking the minutes passing. He was leaning heavily against the branch. His body was already shaking from the pain. He found himself asking how could he have thought he was going to make it. He wouldn’t have stopped, though. He wouldn’t have given up. He would have cut his leg off. He would have crawled, if necessary. He would have died from exhaustion, face on the ground, mud in his mouth. His only, paralyzing fear was not to be able to reach the ranger station in time.

“Are you still alright there?” he asked, determined in making sure that Sam was still fighting.

“ _N-not if you k-keep as...king._ ”

Dean couldn’t help but smiling. “You better stop whining. You know the drill. You crack your melon, you stay awake.”

“ _Well... since you’re asking, I’m terribly t-thirsty._ ”

Dean sighed, feeling sorry for no particular reason. “Can’t drink with internal injuries, Sam...”

“I know... j’st talkin’....”

The warm light of the sunset mixed perfectly with the muddy colours of the forest in autumn. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a beautiful day. A day to remember, probably one of the last. Under normal circumstances, Dean would have stopped for a second and tried to imprint the view in his mind. He would have added that to the list he was filling for the future; the list of things to remember in Hell. However, under _those_ particular circumstances, every fibre in Dean was aiming for the ranger station, his only hope, and his only purpose.

“Hey, Sam,” he panted into the radio receiver, pushing himself on an uphill. “Do you remember that time dad dumped us at a summer camp on the Blue Earth River... it wasn’t that bad, right? There was canoeing, bonfires, marshmallows, pretty girls... Maybe you don’t remember it, though. You were.... what, six? I remember you had a good time. Dad sent us there for that reason, for once. But of course it couldn’t be that simple for the Winchesters.” Dean laughed weakly at the memory. “It turned out there was a Mannegishi there. So, our summer camp turned into an actual hunt. Can’t have a damn friggin’ moment to rest, uh? You can’t escape the hunt!”

The small smile on Dean’s face vanished fast.

“Yeah... you knew that already.”

Dean reached the top of the small hill, and stopped for a moment to catch his breath and check on the wound. The tourniquet was doing its job, and the gashes had almost completely stopped bleeding. Good news, for once.

“Feel free to interrupt me any moment if I’m boring you, Sam, “ Dean said, impatiently. The prolonged silence made worry rising rapidly in his chest. “Believe me; it’s too early for bed time. Now, answer the bloody thing.”

A distant flutter of wings was the only sound.

“Goddammit, Sam! You can’t give up already, you understand me?! Press that button now!”

Still nothing.

So, that was it. Dean was alone. He would have had to find the strength to keep going by himself. Not really his strongest point. He looked at the sun now completely set. The bright pink light was the last he would have got, before the darkness.

Dean clenched his jaw with determination, and, with a muffled grunt of pain, he put a foot in front of the other.

He had to carry on. There was still a long way to go, and too little time.

***

Hours passed. Long, agonizing, lonely, silent hours. Dean didn’t know how many, but every step he took was more difficult than the previous one. Every step drew it closer to the cabin, but further away from Sam. Every step he took made Dean doubt his own decision to leave his brother. He had forbidden himself from thinking the worst – that wouldn’t have helped at all – but now, after all those hours spent alone with his own thoughts; his mind was tangled with horrific visions of Sam choked in his own blood, crushed by another cave in, asphyxiated by the methane, or even eaten alive by the miraculously healed Wendigo.

What if he needed him? What if he had died, calling Dean’s name, unable to reach the radio? What if he had woken up suddenly, in the darkness, confused and scared and his brother wasn’t there for him? Dean was going insane. He needed to know. He needed to go back.

He stopped suddenly, panting. The sky over him had gone dark, and the forest around him was even more impenetrable, and for that reason he was now able to see that: a small, faint light between the trees. The ranger station was now at sight distant. To reach it would not have taken longer than an hour, hopefully less. Turning around now would have been foolish. Still, his legs wouldn’t have moved.

When the abrupt sound of the radio suddenly filled the silence, Dean almost dropped the device. Instead, he let go of the branch, and hang on the radio like it was the most important thing in his life.

“ _Dean..._ ”

“Sam?! Are you okay?”

Sam hadn’t switched the communication; therefore he wasn’t able to hear his words. Dean felt on his knees – such a relief for his leg! – and opened his ears for whatever Sam needed to tell him.

“ _I... I’m sorry for this._ ”

Dean let out a shaky sigh. That wasn’t what he was waiting for, not what he wanted to hear.

“ _I just... want you t-to know... that w-what I’ve done was... stupid..._ ”

His words were interrupted by the interferences, the signal was getting bad, and they were too far apart. Somehow, Dean was grateful for that. He didn’t want to listen to Sam’s apologies for... what, dying?! Damn kid didn’t get to give up now!

“ _D-Does any of this sound familiar to you?_ ”

Dean leant against a tree, suddenly drained of all the strength he had left. He didn’t like the direction Sam’s talk was taking, and he was already too exhausted for dealing with that.

“ _-’m apologising because... want you to do the same...It wasn’t a..._ ”

The speech was fragmented, but Dean didn’t need to hear it again. He knew perfectly what he meant, and he hated the fact that his brother was apologising for that. Sam had been trying to have that talk for weeks! And now he wanted to deliver that message as his last words?! That wasn’t going to happen. They wouldn’t have had _that talk_ now. The talk where Dean would have admitted he had screwed up, and he would had apologised for selling his soul to a demon. Dean _knew_ he had screwed up! But if Sam thought he was going to apologise for doing anything in his power to have his brother back, then he must have been out of his mind. Sam needed to understand that. He didn’t need to be happy about it, nor grateful. Just.... to understand that what Dean had done was the only possible solution.

“I’m sorry I’m making you go through all this shit! But I’m not going to apologise for bringing you back! What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t...”

“ _... not to give up..._ ”

“I’m not. I won’t give up. It’s my job, Sam. It’s what I do. And, I swear to God, I won’t let you die again. I have nothing worthy left to sell.”

The communication shut. He didn’t hear anything else, apart from the crackling interferences. But that was not the end. Dean would not have let them to be Sam’s last words. Dean retrieved the branch, and slowly stood up.

***

Now that the blood in his veins was pumping again with rage and determination, the walk to the cabin didn’t seem that long. He couldn’t feel the pain nor the exhaustion. He could only see the small dot of light becoming three, and later shaping into a building. He didn’t know what he would found inside. He was hoping for a radio, or a working phone. That’s why he almost gasped in surprise when he actually saw a man.

“Hey! I need help!” Dean shouted at the guy who was hanging a lamp on the porch, and who jumped in fear.

“What? Oh God,” he exclaimed in the moment he saw Dean’s wound. “It’s okay, buddy. Take a seat. I have a first aid kid...”

“It’s not me, it’s my brother!” Dean shoved him off, but found himself stumbling forward when his legs decided they were done with holding him. The man, who was dressed up in a ranger uniform, dragged him on the porch, and made him seat.

“Let me see your leg...”

“No! Listen!” Dean grabbed the ranger’s shoulders and forced him to forget his wound. “My brother is trapped in a mine. He’s injured. He’s bad. He needs help now! You need to call someone!”

The guy hesitated a few seconds, and the finally said: “What happened? Where’s your brother now?”

Dean, relieved, pulled the folded map out of his pocket and showed the ranger the position of the mine. He certainly was irritated by the fact that two reckless young men had decided to break into the mine, despite all the warnings, but the genuine worry in Dean’s eye must have had the right effect. The ranger picked the radio and requested help.

When Dean tried to stand up again, he rushed by his side, pushing him down on the chair.

“Where do you think you’re going with that injury?”

“I need to go back to my brother...” Dean’s vision started going blurry, his legs felt wobbly.

“Son, you couldn’t even walk out that door in your condition. Also, the mine is miles away. They’ll send a chopper here to pick you up, first. You’ll be able to take them to the exact place where you left your brother, alright?”

Dean nodded, although he had the feeling he had only listened to half of what the ranger said. All he got from him was ‘soon’ and ‘brother’. That was enough to allow him to doze off for a minute.

***

The sound of a helicopter aroused Dean from his semi-conscious state. The ranger was kneeling over him, with a calm expression.

“They’re here. They’re going to take you to the mine. Are you up for this?”

“...sure,” Dean answered groggily. In seconds, three people – paramedics? – were in the room, checking on him, asking questions he didn’t really understand. All he wanted was to go to Sam.

“We have to take off the tourniquet, it might bleed little, but it doesn’t look too bad. We’ll give you something for the pain, okay?”

Dean felt the sting of a needle before he was even able to answer. The effect was almost immediate.

“We have to go...” He made a second attempt to stand up, and this time two pairs of arms were there to support him and help him step outside.

Dean didn’t pay much attention during the ride. Normally he would have been terrified. Now his eyes were just scanning the ground, looking for the mine.

“How are you going to take him out?” he asked doubtfully to one of the paramedics – the young lady.

“A rescue team has already been sent there on another chopper. They’re waiting for you there to show them the exact point. The mine is bigger than it looks, and very dangerous.” She glanced at Dean’s freshly bandaged leg and showed a reassuring smile. “But you know that already.”

The other paramedic was talking on the radio in the background, but because of the noise Dean couldn’t make out what he was saying. Then he turned and handed a pair of headphones to Dean.

“It’s the rescue team,” he shouted. “They need your directions to start digging.”

The guy on the radio wanted to know which entrance they used. Once Dean had provided him the information he knew, he pointed out that he had left Sam lying dangerously close to the cave in. The last thing he wanted was the rescue team to accidentally bury his brother under the rocks they were supposed to remove.

“It might be safer to get in from the west entrance,” the team leader decided. “It’s been sealed, but it won’t take long to break in, and we won’t risk hurting the man by accident.”

When they arrived, the west entrance had just been opened. A team of five men equipped with reflective gear, headlights and masks was making his way into the tunnel. They made Dean wear a helmet and a mask, and forced him to walk behind them. As much as Dean wanted to fight the order, his strength was just enough to let him stand – barely.

They entered the mine in a row, except for Dean, who needed the support of the young lady in order not to trip over his injured – and now almost insensitive – leg.

“Tell me what you know about your brother’s condition,” the lady asked him.

“His name’s Sam.”

“Alright, tell me what happened to Sam.”

“It was an accident. A spark lit up some methane and there was a blast. The beam collapsed and the ceiling caved in. We have been separated from then, and I couldn’t have a proper look. But I’m almost completely sure he had a concussion and some internal injuries.”

The lady nodded, encouraging. “Did he lose consciousness?”

“Several times... but we’ve talked in between them.”

“Okay. We’ll do everything we can.”

Unfortunately for her, that was not even remotely enough for Dean.

“Holy shit!” The curse echoed in the small space. “What is this thing?! A bear?”

Dean startled, and quickened his pace. If that was the Wendigo, it meant they had reached the right place.

“He’s here, somewhere!” He yelled, trying both to divert their attention from the monster, and to urge them to focus onto something large more important. “SAM!”

“We found him.”

Suddenly all the headlights pointed to the ground. Dean was about to rush forward, but was held back by the young lady – whose strength was now far bigger that his. “Stay here, and let us work.”

The three paramedics converged in one place, while the rescue team secured the collapsed rock from sliding down. Dean would have joined them, but he realised he couldn’t move anymore. He leaned against the wall, watching the rescuers talking and assessing, trying to peer over them to get a glimpse of his brother. He saw someone pulling out a neck brace, while someone else was holding an Ambu bag.

The frustration of not being able to see him was overwhelming, making Dean’s eyes prickle.

“Just... tell me how is he...” he asked, his voice too broken and too weak for being heard over the medical chattering.

A backboard stretcher was laid on the ground

“Tell me how is he!”

In the moment they raised the stretcher, he wished he hadn’t asked. The cold lights spared him a glimpse of a familiar body, paler than a ghost, white skin, blue lips and dusty clothes stained with both dark and bright blood. Unmoving, unresponsive, unaware. Dean saw Sam dead, again.

He closed his eyes and just prayed for his soul to be claimed in that right moment, because there was nothing else left. Because Hell was preferable to his dead brother.

***

“ _So... how is he?_ ”

Dean was resting against the wall in the hallway, just outside Sam’s room. The crutch, that he used to counterbalance the soft cast around his healing leg, temporarily forgotten on a chair.

“He’ll be fine,” Dean answered, rubbing his eyes to wipe away his sleepiness. “Actually, they said he should wake up any moment, now.”

“ _That’s good news._ ” Bobby’s voice sounded calm and reassuring on the other end of the phone. “I’m sorry I’ll be missing the big event. I’ll be there in a few hours. Meanwhile, don’t worry about the Wendigo thing. I made a few calls and it should be settled.”

“Thanks, Bobby. We really owe you one.”

“ _Hell right you do. Now, just go back to your brother, ya idjit. And get some sleep. You sound like a drunken, drowsy Nanny._ ”

“Definitely drowsy; working on the drunken part.”

“ _I’ll see ya later, boy. Take care of yourself._ ”

Dean slipped the phone into his pocket, picked up the crutch, and walked back into the room. He was welcomed by the regular and comforting sound of the machines. He limped towards the plastic chair next to the bed – just beside the wheelchair that he had been refusing to use during the past three days.

He slid back in the now familiar chair, and returned to his job as a guardian. He had been watched over Sam since the moment they had taken him back from the OR. It was imperative, to Dean, to be the first one he would have seen when he woke up. Sam didn’t need the doctors and the nurses to overwhelm him with questions and information. He didn’t need to know he had spent the last two days and a half unconscious in that bed, after a five hour surgery to repair his ruptured spleen and stop the internal bleeding. He didn’t need to see the layers of bandages that were covering the burnt skin on his arms, or those that were wrapped around his chest, to bind his two broken ribs and the three cracked ones. He didn’t need to know that he had been forced on a respirator for a day, before finally switching to a nasal cannula, because the methane inhalations had almost asphyxiated him, and his lungs had refused to cooperate after his body had broken into a seizure, due to the lack of oxygen. There would have been time for all of that.

There was something that Sam needed to hear more than everything else, and he needed to hear that from Dean.

“You’ll be fine, Sam; because you didn’t give up.”

He gently rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder, despising the way he looked so fragile, but well aware of the strength he was hiding underneath.

“You’ll be fine. And you have enough strength for keeping fighting for both of us.”

Dean leaned forward and placed his head on Sam’s pillow, feeling his heat, watching his chest raising and lowering; watching him living. He impressed that in his mind, and added them to his list. The list of the first things he would have remembered, when he had opened his eyes in Hell.

 

***end***

 


End file.
